


Annals of Alternian History: The Rise of the Summoner

by mtjester



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1696241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtjester/pseuds/mtjester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The journal that fell into the hands of Mindfang's descendant was certainly not her last.  Her final journal, the volume that recounts the story of her turbulent romance with the Summoner, disappeared in the fiery wreckage of her ship, and the only copy that remains has found its place in Doc Scratch's library among the other tombs detailing Alternia's history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. |Journalog 1|

How many hundreds of sweeps has it 8een since I received the vague yet intriguing prophecy foretelling my death at the hands of my fated m8sprit, revealed to me only as the summoner?  I failed to keep track after the first two centuries passed.  For sweeps, the prospect of his coming consumed my thoughts, compelling me to seek out caravans of newly conscripted cavalreapers traveling to the training 8locks peppering the coast of the capital district. My fervor was foolish and premature, a fact that even then I suspected to 8e true, an undercurrent of demoralizing dou8t that ran through my mind until time and failure confirmed its veracity. My efforts may have 8een 8etter spent seeking Pyralspite myself, something which I now greatly regret I didn’t do.  Just as the summoner has eluded me for these few centuries 8y fact of his nonexistence, Pyralspite has evaded my every effort to find and tame it.

Even after I gave up searching for him, I had not forgotten a8out the summoner or the prophecy, despite my long silence on the matter.  I have 8een waiting patiently, assessing every troll who has crossed my path for traits that could 8elong to him.  My anticipation has 8een 8ittersweet, and now, I am pleased to write that it might soon 8e s8ed. I will not confirm with esta8lished certainty that the 8oy I found today is the same man I have 8een aw8ing with 88ed 8reath since I lost my vision 8fold, 8ut I will relate the events nonetheless.  If my suspicions are true, I finally stand on the 8rink of the finale of my long and remarka8le life.

The gentle waves of the ocean reflected the dim, pink light of the moon, making visi8le the dark hulls of a convoy of the Condesce’s formida8le military, traveling not a nautical mile from my own fleet.  The vessels were marked as mere transportation crafts, ships carrying this sweep’s fledglings to their future homes at the training 8locks. I never discarded the old ha8it of intercepting neophyte soldiers whenever I came across them, and this time was no different.  My attack was swift and my triumph inevita8le.  This 8rand of transportation craft is rarely equipped to handle an onslaught the magnitude of which my own fleet is capa8le, surely 8ecause the vessels themselves carry nothing more valua8le than a company of young adults, 8arely out of wigglerhood.  If they knew what I sought, perhaps they would 8e more careful.

I allowed my crew to pillage whatever spoils they could find from the captain’s quarters, which usually keeps their impressive greed sati8ed well enough to deter unnecessary question.  I, myself, surveyed our prisoners.  It is my way when we capture an unfortunate group of fledglings to separate those with psychic a8ilities from the common ra88le, for reasons that should 8y now 8e quite clear. I did the same with this group. They lined up against the walls, small, frail, and deliciously naive, most of their youth still apparent in the slender curves of their developing muscles and the roundness of their unguarded eyes. Their fear and uncertainty was apparent on their faces, rendering my a8ility to feel their emotions unnecessary. It is always a pleasure to handle minds so unsullied 8y the passion of war and romance, 8ut I digress.

One 8y one, I pressed each for details of their a8ilities.  Most were shrewd enough to understand that I would not tolerate insolence, and for those that weren’t, their cheekiness was greeted with the 8ackside of my hand.  8usiness as usual, just another part of an exercise I long ago realized was fruitless.  As I reached the end of the line, however, my eyes fell upon a pair of magnificent horns, which easily spanned the length of two adult trolls.  This one, I thought, would do well for entertainment.  As I inquired a8out the nature of his a8ilities, I reached out and ran my hand down his handsome cheek, relishing the warmth emanating from his skin.  How rare it is to find a troll with such crude 8lood conscripted into military service, especially one that would serve 8etter as a slave to satisfy the pleasures of his commanders.  So enamored was I with the timid fluttering of his eyelashes and the tantalizing perfection of his physique that I almost did not catch his words.  I am now glad that I did.  Communion with 8easts, he said, in a soft, velvety voice that trailed away at the end of the sentence.

My 8lood pusher fluttered in my chest.  Centuries of searching, and I discover this 8eautiful 8oy with chocolate irises and a disposition that suggests he would sooner 8efriend a 8east than tame it. I dropped my hand to my side, examining his face, memorizing its contours and curves.  The urge to jump to conclusions 8ased on such insufficient evidence was overwhelming, 8ut I had to 8e sure.  I commanded him to follow me to my quarters.

Alone, his timidity only grew.  He shuffled his feet like a child, wringing his hands and picking at his nails as I circled him.  He is un8eara8ly attractive. I can almost feel his hands on my 8ody, his mind in my grasp as I allow him just enough will to maintain his charming diffidence.  8ut I did not take his control from him, and I kept my own hands to myself.  Instead, I sat at my desk and ordered him to strip off his shirt.  It was a curt command, meant to dispel any fear of lascivious intentions on my part, yet he still hesit8ed.  I waited. If he was the one whom I was soon to call my m8sprit, I did not want to 8egin our relationship with a 8ad impression. I was truly hoping I would not have to force him.

Slowly, he reached up and undid the 8uttons on his tunic, starting at his collar and working down to his waist.  The fa8ric slid off his shoulders in a manner that could make colder trolls than I grow tight with anticipation, 8ut I restrained my desire, noting instead the 8andages wrapped around his chest.  I gestured to them and requested an explanation.  The gorgeous im8ecile stum8led over his own tongue in an unsuccessful attempt to divert my question, 8ut I stopped him, directing him instead to remove them.  Helpless agitation passed like a shadow across his face, and I could feel the uncertainty radiating from his mind.  He had a secret that he desperately wanted to keep. If the silly 8oy only knew what I know, he would have guarded his emotions 8etter.  My suspicions were as good as confirmed. Still, I pressed him to follow my command, and with much unneeded stalling, he removed the 8inding.

Never have I 8eheld such a magnificent sight as the wings that unwrapped themselves from his willowy torso.  They shimmered 8ronze in the dim light of my ca8in, the slender veins running along their lengths catching the glow in thin strands of color.  I stood and walked to him, and he flinched away. Losing patience, I willed him to stand still, holding him in place as I reached out to touch the delic8 fa8ric of the wing.  The 8oy dropped his eyes in shame.  I could not imagine what logic would persuade him to 8ecome ashamed of such a glorious mutation in his genetics, 8ut his lack of confidence was the least of my concerns. It was clear that I had found my summoner, or at least as clear as it could 8ecome until he lived the tale I had gleaned from the innards of the white oracle.

I allowed him to replace the 8indings that hid his wings from the world, examining his 8uild as he did so.  He was not yet fit to lead a re8ellion, a fact that was hardly surprising given his youth. He had room to fill out, and his conscription guaranteed that he would gain a su8stantial amount of muscle 8efore the end of the sweep.  As he replaced his shirt, I offered to strike a 8argain with him, once again putting my a8ility to control him how I pleased aside in favor of a more diplomatic approach to our future romance.  My terms were simple: I would return him to his ship and allow the convoy to pass unimpeded to their destination, 8ut in return, he must meet me at a place of my choosing come midnight of the next perigee.  He asked me how he would know where to meet me should he agree to my conditions, and I assured him that the matter would 8e taken care of.  After only a second of hesit8tion, he agreed.  I was surprised. His disposition suggested that he would need a much longer time to consider the proposition, 8ut there was a glint of ferventness in his eyes that was not lost on me.  Perhaps I had made a 8etter impression than I thought. My imagination dances with the possi8ilities of such an impli8tion.

8efore I escorted him 8ack to his vessel, I asked his name.  The summoner is a reasona8le title, 8ut it is rather unruly for casual rel8tions.  “Rufioh,” he told me.  “Rufioh,” my exquisite future lover, my 8ewitching killer.  If the way his heat clings to the palm of my hand is any foreshadowing of our future, there will 8e plenty to preoccupy my mind 8esides my impeding death.

 


	2. |Journalog 2|

I have spent the last perigee making preparations for my meeting with Rufioh.  He does not know that this meeting is to 8e a test, a trial in which he must prove to me his a8ility to 8ecome the man I 8elieve him destined to 8ecome.  There is only one task he must accomplish: to conquer Pyralspite.  I have already performed the more mundane and la8orious aspects of the task, including pinpointing the location of the elusive dragon.  It took all my time and manpower to find her.  If I had spent more time searching for her in the past instead of impatiently seeking a troll I knew could not yet possi8ly exist, the task might have proven less vexing, 8ut this is the price of foolishness.  I am now simply relieved that I managed to set everything up in time for my second meeting with Rufioh.

When I told the 8oy that I would arrange everything to ensure he knew my location, I was not 8eing entirely truthful in a way that would appeal to his expectations.  I have 8een tracking him in my own way, which involves more than one implant in his particular squad of the Cavalreapers, and I knew where to find him.  On the night of our rendezvous, exactly one perigee from the night I found him, I docked my ship in a secluded cove far down the 8each from his 8arracks.  This was no mean feat, due to the military camp’s close proximity to the capital, the seat of the Subjugglators.  Ensuring the safety of my ship was among the more demanding arrangements I made to assure the smooth execution of this affair.  Getting Rufioh to the ship was merely a matter of taking his mind and leading him to me directly.  In the meantime, I made sure he was rid of the damned 8andages o8scuring his marvelous secret.  He needn’t wear them in my presence.

He arrived on the ship shirtless and 8ewildered, concerned as I knew he would 8e a8out his sudden loss of control.  I wonder now if he had forgotten a8out our 8argain.  If he had, then he was rudely reminded, and with that reminder came a demonstration of my power.  There was no need for me to 8e anything 8ut cordial to him, as it was clear that he had gotten a strong enough taste of the severity of his situation.  He was every 8it as timid as he was the first night I had him in my ca8in.  A disappointment, really.  I had thought that a perigee of military training would strengthen his resolve.  Perhaps my sudden and admittedly disingenuous method of leading him to my ship caused him to regress, 8ut it was no matter to me.  He would have plenty of time to 8uild up a 8ack8one, and I have had plenty of time to learn the value of patience.  My only purpose for him at that point was to demonstrate his powers of communion.

We set off immediately for the place at which Pyralspite had 8een last seen.  It was 8y no means close.  I kept Rufioh in my ca8in, watching him as he fidgeted in the seat I had provided for him.  He wanted to ask me where I was taking him, what I planned to do with him, why he was on my ship.  He wanted to protest, to tell me that he could not 8e away from his 8arracks for long.  I could discern all of these questions churning in his think pan just from the way he huddled, stiff and slumping, against the soft fa8ric of his chair.  Uncertainty and not a little fear was emanating from his mind.  I could have relieved him from his tension with a small disclosure of information, 8ut I chose not to.  It was charming, in its own way.  Instead, I asked him simple questions.  How was training?  Did he 8ring his lusus?  Was he making friends?  How long did he expect to wait 8efore his first promotion?  All these questions he answered with that gentle irresolution at the end of his sentences, as though he ended each statement with a set of ellipses.  He never pressed me for the answers to the questions at the tip of his tongue.  He never once mentioned that he had any questions at all.  It 8ecame clear to me that he preferred to avoid confrontation if at all possi8le, which won’t do.  It is a trait I will have to inculc8 out of him. 

We traveled all night to track down Pyralspite.  I am sure he thought I was a8ducting him, and I can only imagine for what purpose he thought I was stealing him away.  When the call came from my first m8, however, that Pyralspite had finally 8een spotted, I 8eaconed for him to follow me, finally presenting a sliver of information he could use to ease his anxiety.  This dragon, I told him, is the 8east that took my arm, a fact that he was clearly alarmed to hear.  Whether his reaction was from sympathy for me or from fear for the animal, I cannot say.  He surely wondered what connection the information shared with him.  It was finally prudent for me to tell him why I had 8rought him.  The dragon was no longer visi8le, having disappeared over a steep precipice inland.  I gestured in the direction it had gone and told Rufioh that he was to find it, commune with it, and 8ring it 8ack to me, so that I might 8ecome its new master.  As I now knew to expect from the small amount of time I had o8served him, he hesitated.  Initially, I simply assumed that he found the task too daunting, that perhaps he dou8ted his a8ility to do what I was asking him to do.  To my surprise, however, he instead asked if I intended to hurt the 8east.  I could not help 8ut laugh.  For any other troll, I suppose it would have 8een reasona8le to assume that an o8session with a 8east such as Pyralspite was merely an extension of some misplaced desire for revenge, 8ut I am not so trite.  I told him as much.  He asked, tentatively, for an explanation, 8ut I withheld.

Someday, when he knows me 8etter, he may 8e a8le to divine my intentions, 8ut the explanation he desires will never come from my lips.  On my death8ed, perhaps he will finally realize what sort of person I am.  My passion for finding and taming the dragon is much like my passion for finding and taming the legendary summoner.  It is not anger for past or future harm that has 8een or shall 8e done to me that provokes me to seek my aggressors.  My o8session runs far deeper.  The desire to own my failures, to dominate those that dominate me, drives me to em8race those that are my downfall.  If I am to 8e 8ested, I will 8e 8ested 8y an entity that deserves that privilege.  None of this need 8e revealed to Rufioh, now or in the future.

After a little delay, in which he weighed his options, Rufioh spread those magnificent wings, showing for the first time their full span.  He rose from the deck, now in the presence of my own crew as well as myself, and my lackeys watched in awe as he disappeared over the precipice.  Their reactions 8ode well.  When the time comes for him to reveal himself, the picture of him, flying against the light of the stars, will 8e perfect fodder for the masses, who will surely rally 8ehind him as the savior they’ve 8een wishing for.  If only I had 8een a8le to see him interact with Pyralspite in person.

He came 8ack with her, of course.  Her great wings 8eat the air down on us, creating with each thrust a whirlwind against which we had to fight to stay upright.  He hovered 8efore her, her chin resting on his palm, as he whispered words I could not hear to her.  The gentleness with which he commanded her was foreign to me, sincere, unlike the manner in which I conduct my psychic relations with my victims.  He is a gem among trolls, a saint among villains, and I almost regret having to destroy that part of him.  He must learn to 8e ruthless.  If I am right, this dragon will 8e following him into a lost 8attle in several sweeps’ time, and he must 8e willing to lead his followers to the slaughter.  We will have that talk when it 8ecomes appropriate to do so.

He agreed to leave Pyralspite with me.  She will 8ecome a regular feature of my armada, a lusus to replace the one it killed all those sweeps ago.  I took him 8ack to his 8arracks, and I saw to it that my spies would deter any punishment he would have received for his two-night a8sence.  As much as I would like to press the situation to its climax as early as possi8le, I realize that events must 8e handled very delic8ly, now that the summoner has finally fallen into my hands without any trace of a dou8t.  His wings must remain secret until he is ready to inspire troops to a re8ellion.  Until that time, it must 8e his top priority to make his way through the ranks.  He must prove himself fearless and strong, more so than any of his peers.

My challenge, in turn, is to convince him to do these things, and now that I know his disposition, I am 8eginning to realize that my work has only just 8egun.


	3. |Journalog 3|

The past sweep has 8een frustrating and la8orious, yet rewarding in ways I could not have anticipated. Conditioning Rufioh is a difficult task, 8ut not 8y any fault in his disposition as I 8elieved would 8e the case. It is true that his general lack of confidence poses a series of psychological riddles, all of which I’ve attempted to solve without the use of my own psychic a8ilities, 8ut I have not found him vexing to any extent that would discourage me. I enjoy his company. He is charming, charismatic in a way that is singular among trolls, coy, and of course handsome enough to get away with murder. No, he is not the source of my vex8ion. The complic8ions I’ve experienced in the past sweep have their source in his environment, which I would like more than anything to control personally. Unfortunately, it is 8eyond my power to meddle in his affairs directly.

As a wanted outlaw with several centuries’ worth of 8ounties to my name, I cannot follow his daily progress without compromising 8oth myself and my mission. To attempt any undercover oper8ion into the military 8ase he occupies would 8e reckless. W8ing for word of his development from my various spies tries my patience, so much so that sleep eludes me many days. I have taken to exerting my influence over his environment in my own ways, almost o8sessively, I’m almost ashamed to say. 8ut the future of our doomed revolution is rooted in these formative nights, and I cannot allow our success to 8e placed in the hands of the idiots 8eneath me.

I have 8een 8oth kind and cruel to Rufioh with my interference in his military career. I have no dou8t that he would 8e capa8le in winning the praise of his fellow fledgling cavalreapers, given his agreea8le disposition. I would not say that he is a 8orn leader, 8ut he has a loyal and trustworthy disposition, the sort that inspires comradery and cooperation from others. 8ut popularity is a dou8le-edged 8lade, and jealousy follows those who succeed, especially those so low on the hemospectrum as he. Rufioh’s a8ility to charm is an invitation for sa8otage. I have done him the favor of cur8ing the negativity that would otherwise stunt his social growth among his peers. None of his companions know how my psychic tendrils have altered their thoughts, how I have pressed them so su8tly to like my ward that they 8elieved their admir8ion to 8e a whim of their own minds. They will likely 8e the first to follow him to take up arms against the ruling aristocracy, perhaps 8ecoming the commanders of his future army. My task is to increase their admir8ion over time, so that they are too enamored with him to turn away when he reveals himself.

My involvement with his superiors has 8een far less o8liging to him. Like his comrades, the machin8ions of his senior officers have always 8een clear to me. Many of them hold no particular ill will or ulterior motives towards their low 8looded protégé, 8ut I have felt in several the stirrings of loathsome intentions. I can hardly 8lame any of them for any lascivious feelings, given my own impulses when I first met him. Nor is it surprising for high 8looded military personnel to feel enmity towards the low 8looded upstart among the ranks, whose successes overstep his position in the hemospectrum. While it would have 8een just as easy for me to alter their judgments, I chose to withhold my influence, even encouraging to some extent their harmful 8igotry. I allowed them to treat him with all the prejudice they felt towards him, ignoring any evidence of foul play presented to my mind as waves of repugnant emotion from 8oth the aggressing parties and Rufioh himself. Allowing him to 8e a8used in any way was not pleasant for me, and I took to drink when I felt the pream8le to an odious situation reach my mind. 8ut I had my own reasons for acquiescing in these occurrences.

He comes to me when given the freedom to spend time off the 8ase, and he descri8es to me all the things I already know a8out him from 8oth my spies and my a8ilities. I know what gentle questions to ask, how to coax him to lay 8are his dou8ts and insecurities. His peers’ enthusiastic acceptance of him as a star among their ranks heartens him, 8ut he has always 8een upset a8out his treatment at the hands of his officers. I knew their mistreatment of him would discourage him. He is so naive, so sensitive, I can hardly imagine how he managed to live into adulthood, let alone 8ecome a cavalreaper. 8ut I was supportive when he confided in me. I listened to his reservations, his fears, his misery. And I made a remark a8out his position in our society. Surely this was not the first time he experienced this sort of prejudice? I mused. 

I knew what response I was drawing from him. Of course this was not the first time. He is a low 8lood of a particularly handsome stock, and I would 8e shocked if he hadn’t 8arely escaped from some form of slavery upon reaching adulthood. With a uniquely docile shame, quiet and endearing, he confirmed my suspicions. He had known the sting of hemoism long 8efore reaching conscription. He had hoped it would lessen in the shadow of his achievements. Excellent news for me.

I pressed him to speak a8out his experiences. I listened, demonstrating for him my willingness to engage with him a8out his struggles, my acceptance of his flaws. As he spoke, his candor grew. The undivided, candid sympathy of a 8eautiful woman gave him the confidence to transform his shame to frustration, as I hoped it would. To have lived this long in a hostile world required of him some form of anger, the dam of which I have sought to 8reak since the night he tamed Pyralspite. I was glad to finally see with my remaining eye the emotion play across his features, revealing the potential for passion in him I was interested in exposing.

I welcomed his anger, praising him for its existence and encouraging him to em8race the emotion. The 8oy, like many of his hue, had 8een long ignorant of the plight of his 8rethren, I explained, referencing ancient sym69ls of unrest that someone as young as he would have no reason to know. Long into the night, until the light of dawn 8roke, I led him in a discussion of hemospectrum politics and the history of the tur8ulence that accompany them. The thin rays of dawn caught in his 8rown eyes, sparkling with new enlightenment until they appeared almost golden.

Had he never realized that the a8use he sustained 8y the authorities in power was unjust? Was his shame the usual response among his kind? My experiences handling slaves with crude 8lood leads me to 8elieve that the answer is affirmative. 8efore this conversation, I preferred to 8elieve that the temperament of slaves was merely an extension of their forced servitude, a result of their demoralization. It would seem, however, that shame is somehow programmed into the minds of the warmer 8loods while still young, so that even they treat their punishments as the result of some existential disgrace rather than a symptom of sickness in the system.

In any case, I got what I wanted. Although I found my strategy reprehensi8le, allowing him to 8e a8used 8y his officers presented to me the opportunity to force his resentment to a more desira8le level of general discontentment. When the time comes for him to fulfill his destiny, I am confident that, despite his seemingly 8enevolent character, he will have the passion needed to lead a grand army. I will continue to influence his passions in the meantime.

Of passions, I must say that my vile designs had an unintended consequence. After our talk, we prepared to sleep for the remainder of the day, I in my recuperacoon and he on the sofa in my quarters, due to the large width of his horns. In my daygown, dressed for slime, I 8id him goodnight. He returned my salutation with a kiss.

My 8lood pusher flutters with the recollection. I had 8een patient with my emotions until now. Although I knew that we were ultim8ly f8ed to 8e m8sprits, my affections for him were cool, 8orn only from knowledge gleaned prematurely from an o8jective source. My affections were as such o8jective as well, detached, love expected rather than love felt. Yet, when his velvet lips 8rushed against mine, I was awash with the pure and gentle red ador8ion ascri8ed so often to flushed romance. My thoughts of him are now as frequent as my o8sessive scheming over his future. I am happier than I have 8een in a very long time.

I cannot allow myself to 8e distracted, however. I have o8tained my goal to extract an appropri8ly indign8 response from Rufioh concerning injustice in the hemospectrum, and now I must concentr8 on esta8lishing him as an authority in the military. He will gradu8 from his training soon. I will influence his superiors enough to ensure a num8er of fortuitous promotions. He must rise through the ranks to the top of command for the next stage of my plan.

There is no guarantee that I will 8e successful in my su8sequent strategy, 8ut I am confident. Despite the unfortun8 fact that I am no longer a8le to ascertain the future through du8ious means, I can still sway the outcome of our situ8ion in my favor. I will secure Rufioh a position in the Righteous Tent of the Dark Carnival, the seat of the Grand High8lood and his su8juggl8ors, as a representative of the cavalreapers to answer directly to high8lood commands. There, he will witness firsthand high8lood cruelty, which will further inspire him to re8el. He will also have access to the High Court of Alternia. That, I want for my own purposes. The life of an outlaw is no longer 8eneficial to me. 8efore we proceed, I must clear my name.


	4. |Journalog 4|

The horrors to which I’ve exposed my 8eloved ward 8y placing him among the high8looded 8easts of the Dark Carnival make my protein sack turn.  My power over the su8juggl8or horde is limited.  My trust in his a8ilities to cope with the trials that aw8 him in the Righteous Tent, a sinister den of murder and 8ar8arity masquerading as a colorful circus, fluctu8s like the tide at the peak of the lunar season.  Yet he trusted my judgment when I urged him to take the assignment he was presented.  He does not know I manufactured the conditions that lead to his promotion.  In fact, he is still unaware of my involvement in any of his affairs.  I wonder what he will think of me when I come clean.

I did not consider what effects the com8ined force of the Dark Carnival’s chucklevoodoos would have on a troll who cannot properly fit into a recuperacoon.  Rufioh has only revealed a fraction of the distress he suffers when he sleeps.  All trolls know of the gruesome visions that linger in our su8conscious, 8iding time 8eneath the torrent of our waking thoughts until sleep releases them upon our vulnera8le minds, 8ut few know the source of these horrors.  Clu8s and fists are not the su8juggl8ors’ only weapons.  It is their unique a8ility to plague our dreams with daymares reflecting our deepest fears, which only the cool em8race of supor slime can mitig8.  And I have sent them Rufioh, a troll with many fears, with 8lood the color of lusus excrement, whose audacity to stand alongside the highest aristocracy on land would have earned him death under any other circumstance.  Only after he mentioned his daymares did I remem8er that he is one of the few whose defenses against the daily onslaught of purple 8lood chucklevoodoos are wildly limited.

My dismay is almost as painful as my guilt.  8ut I cannot undo what has 8een done without risking his life and our future.

The merits I predicted would come of this situation have likewise proved elusive.  Whenever I’m given the chance to speak with him, he does seem tougher and more disgusted with the social order as it currently exists.  Standing witness to the common proceedings of the Righteous Tent and developing a 8etter understanding of su8juggl8or involvement in the High Court has left him disillusioned, as I 8elieved it would.  I can feel the seed of re8ellion swelling in him, and when he details the injustice he regularly sees, the gleam of insurgence shines in his eyes.  Yet he also shows signs of uncertainty.  His daymares have 8een well tailored to exploit his insecurities.  Even when we discuss the hemospectrum, there is a lack of conviction in his criticisms, as though he cannot shake the widespread 8elief that he is worth less than the trolls he witnesses murdering others for 8ad jokes.  Just as re8ellion stirs in him, so does a stu88orn streak of self-loathing that was never there 8efore.  I am sure this cognitive dissonance is a direct result of his ina8ility to counteract the chucklevoodoos.  I was at a loss for a solution to this quandary until my own recent excursion into the Grand High8lood’s lair. 

My experiences dealing with the High Court all those sweeps ago prepared me for my audience with the High8lood.  It is common knowledge that, although the Righteous Tent and the High Court are separ8 entities, one dealing in executive matters and the other in judicial, they frequently consort.  One might say they are in cahoots.  The High Court creates a sem8lance of law and order that appeals to the ignorant masses, all the while allowing su8juggl8or influence dict8 the proceedings of their trials.  In return, the su8juggl8ors turn a 8lind eye to corruption in the courthouses and toler8 to some extent the presence of lower 8lood types among the legislacer8ors.  As I was not summoned to the capital for reasons of lawlessness, it was to the Righteous Tent I went.

It was my Summoner who summoned me, 8y my own request.  I was afraid, given his slow decline, that he would not 8e a8le to procure me the audience I wanted with the High8lood, 8ut he pulled through.  I did not question how until I saw them together. 

The flickering glow of torchlight threw ominous shadows over the Grand High8lood’s enormous throne, painted as his face was painted 8ut in gaudy shades of colors I knew to 8e 8lood.  Far from squeamish, I did not let myself grow apprehensive at the for8idding sheen of freshly applied fluid.  I wondered 8riefly, did the rich violet of my ancient kismesis stain the walls of the tent?  It did not matter much to me, 8ut I suspect my mind was searching for a flutter of familiarity in the claustrophobic room.  Lining the walls were representatives of the various 8ranches of the military, who acted as liaisons 8etween the su8juggl8ors and their troops.  Their position is ranked in importance one step 8elow the generals who answer directly to the Empress herself, an honor endowed only upon seadwellers.  I expected Rufioh to 8e among them, standing in w8ing, attempting to conceal his sweat like the rest of the poor 8astards who spend their lives shriveling in the heat of the Righteous Tent. 

Instead, I found him standing directly 8eside the High8lood, hands 8ehind his 8ack in a stance of alert attention.  His expression was hard, his face like stone, harsh lines ringing his 8eautiful 8ronzed eyes.  I coaxed those eyes to mine.  He seemed to soften for a moment, as though my presence were a prized comfort he had 8een anticipating the whole night.  8ut his comfort was fleeting.  The hardness returned with the opening of the High8lood’s jagged maw.

Even if I could recreate the High8lood’s charmless vernacular, I would not waste the ink.  He asked me, in short, if I was the last of the ancient gam8lignants, the outlaw who had em8arrassed the High Court 8y slaying the reigning Honora8le Tyranny of the age and evading capture for su8sequent sweeps.  I confirmed that I was.  His eyes roved over my form, noting the scimitar at my side, my impecca8le dress, my seamless composure.  I felt the cold shiver of his chucklevoodoos testing my fortitude.  A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, producing another microscopic crack in the paint caked onto his face.  To my surprise, he turned to Rufioh.

Rufioh kept his eyes forward as he answered the questions posed to him 8y the High8lood.  Although his line of questioning sought to uncover legitimate concerns, such as what circumstances made it appropri8 that my crimes should 8e pardoned, his tone and expression suggested he had other concerns.  Namely, why Rufioh himself would vie for my a8solution.  Rufioh answered exactly as I had instructed him to answer, 8ut I noticed the stiffness of his 8ack and the tightness of his jaw.  His mind swam with darkness.  The High8lood seemed well aware of his enmity, 8ut instead of the outrage with which one would expect him to greet the hatred of a low8lood, he seemed intrigued, even amused.

He granted me the pardon I sought.  8ut more importantly, he provided me with a potential solution to the challenge presented to us 8y the Dark Carnival.  If the collective pressure of the su8juggl8or chucklevoodoos was too much for Rufioh to 8ear, perhaps he could find sanctuary in a su8juggl8or quadrant.  Such an arrangement would inspire one su8juggl8or to defend him against the animosity of the rest.  He would 8e marked as the sole property, and therefore sole target, of one among their ranks, particularly if the relationship were of a darker nature.  And what su8juggl8or would serve as a 8etter kismesis for my m8sprit than the Grand High8lood himself?

I will work it into my plan.  I may not 8e a8le to influence the High8lood’s impression of Rufioh, 8ut if I am correct in my assumptions, I will not need to.  I need only aid Rufioh in his seduction of him.  With care and precision, Rufioh need not know I meddled at all.


End file.
